What Remains To Be Found...

For those readers who've been following my writings for awhile now, you've seen me at various stages in my life and journey... arguably at my worst and at my best, functional and completely non-functional. There has been sways and spikes, crisis and rejuvenation, redemption and reprisal... a virtual cornucopia of emotions and thought. Recently, things have been much worse and I have found myself at the darkest depths of my life... although I moved across the country to better my life, ironically, sorrow and addiction have been my only lasting companions. On Saturday, unable to deal with the loss of the single most important thing in my life, I tried once again, to leave this world behind... my attempts were in vain, and as you can clearly see by this entry, unsuccessful. I couldn't bear the burden of this relentless sorrow any longer, so the daily routine of running, escape, and self-medication increased significantly... instead of stopping once I had obtained the desirable level of intoxication, I continued consuming more and more Morphine. With blurred vision and over whelming euphoria consuming the last fibers of my consciousness, choking on my own saliva because I was too high and detached to even swallow, I continued chasing that white rabbit until my body collapsed. This should have been the final stand, my desistance, the end complete... I "awoke" quite sometime later, drenched in sweat, saliva, and piss, muddled and unable to form rational thought. After yet another failed attempt at leaving this place behind, I was convinced God is a fucking sadist and he truly just wants me to continue suffering for my transgressions and failures.Days later, I still don't know how to feel about it, other than the fact that I'm fucking pissed off for having wasted so much Morphine... that was enough to keep me "stratosphere" for a week. The escape was temporary in the end, and here I find myself still unable to bear these feelings of loss and sorrow... my heart is broken beyond all repair and my desire and will are completely tapped and exhausted. Lost in the "what if's..." and "should have's...", I must face each day alone and hopeless of reunion... each breath is powdered glass and my eyes have been cried dry.

This confession speaks volumes about myself... my weakness, pathetic and hopeless nature, my addiction, and self-worth. But I'm not the only one in the spot light... now you stand center stage and it's your reflection that is captive. Depending on your reaction and thoughts, you're one of three types of individual:

- If you're filled with compassion and you're thinking to yourself, "Damn, Alabaster Frank... I love you and I'm here for you always, but I really think you need to get some type of help.", I want you to know that I appreciate your concern, compassion, empathy, and kindness. However, ironically, I am already enrolled in a Crisis Stabilization Program and I have people coming over to my house every day to make sure I am safe and getting the help that I need. The problem is that I feel dead inside and there is no remedy for that... when that tree burned down, it took away everything that I am or could ever possibly become. It was a moment of complete and absolute loss that turned my entire world upside-down and inside-out. Where do you go from here? How do you get there... or find the desire to even care?

-If you're filled with anger and you're thinking to yourself, "Shut the fuck up already! If you want to die so fucking bad, I'll fucking do it for you, you worthless, stupid, fat, fucking piece of shit!"... ah, honesty, how refreshing. I'll tell you what... send me a message, and I'll give you my address and you can come over here and do it for me, OK?

-And finally, if you're filled with mockery and lack any real courage of your own, because you're one of those people that masturbates to videos on YouTube of bullying victims crying their eyes out and self harm photographs, and you're thinking to yourself, "Ha ha, you're such a loser! I think this is so funny... you can't even kill yourself right because you're so stupid and pathetic!. Quit crying about it and try it again, so I can laugh at you failing yet again!". Sadly, if this is how you truly feel, I suppose you're even more pathetic than I am. Obviously you're so lost and soulless that you'll scour the Internet, searching and reading the blog's of people whom are truly suffering, just as a means of entertainment and escape from your own worthless and pathetic existence. I'll tell you what... I'll offer you the same courtesy as the person before you. Send me a message, and I'll give you my address... except this time, the end result will be far different, because you're clearly a spineless individual. So, this is how it will be. You come over to my house and I will beat you to death with my dick and we'll record it and post it on the Internet for other mindless fucking trolls, like yourself, so they can masturbate to your suffering for a change? How does that sound, punk-ass motherfucker? Fuck you. That's right... Fuck You!

Okay, I know that was a little on the intense side, but I just can't stand people that get off on the suffering of others and view their pain as a type of entertainment... at least serial killers have the conviction to cause that other person's suffering before they get off, ya know? It's all about manners. So there we have it... it's no secret what type of person I am or the lives I have lived. I've always been very forthcoming in sharing the pieces of my life and story with all of you. The real question is, what type of person are you? Do you have a moral compass and the power of conviction? Do you have a heart and the humanity to use it? There are some readers who have been very kind to me over the years and I want you to know that I appreciate each and every one of you. I don't know if I can learn how to be happy and healthy... I don't know if I can ever truly heal. But it is my hope that one day, I'll be able to see that I'm not alone in this void... that one day I can learn how to use my heart, just like some of you have used yours in kindness towards me.Thank you, my friends... thank you for listening and sharing this time together.

Fingertips & Bruised Lips

I apologize for the lack of entries... life has become, complicated, once again. My goal was to post on a regular basis... everyday in fact, if that would at all be possible. It's no surprise that things seldom turn out the way we expected them to be... life has a way of dry fucking you, despite the copious amounts of lubrication on hand.

It's been about two weeks now since I rebelled and rejected the poison... the Choir has returned to full strength and I've left the chains of center stage behind. It was decided that we should also discontinue the anti-depression medication... not a choice made purely by myself. They all had a hand in this conclusion... two fingers per sandwich and one always left dry. Richard has remained in the background... praying and chanting in rhythm with the Choir and restless screams. The children continue to rot in the gasping gullets... the blood quenches their thirst no longer. The definitions of suffering and torment have stretched like the bellies of fattened calves ready for slaughter... rocking back and forth in the middle of the night, as the faces leap single-filled from the closet. It's not a matter of adjustment... it's the fallout of evolution. The more I try to realize some measure of value, the images shift their perspective and innocence... there is no "I" in team, but there is a "Me". Self-preservation... the cautionary tale of genocide. Part of me is still clinging on to the promises and assurances of Richard... the destination is the same, it's only the path and his companionship that is of the question. His strength has been proven in the recent past, so his wrath is a continual concern... he may be still for the moment, but he is very much aware and waiting. With Diana's continued absence, my support has dwindled considerably... the majority of my support has been reduced to the internal, for my resources and companionship in the real world are beyond limited. My cat and my doctors are the extent of my social reaches... digital and delusional persons excluded, of course. Perhaps I need to widen the horizons... venture into the real world and sink my toes into the earth. Replace the X with 0808 and do what was once denied...

Resident Fear

Today, I lay here broken... torn to ribbons from the inside out by my captors, both old and new. I am bruised and beaten... I feel terrified and alone. Richard demands retribution... his previous attempts to unwind the fabric failed. This is somehow my fault. I am the reason and his betrayer... yet nothing was done by my hand. Leaving me to clean his soiled linens. When I close my eyes, all I can see are the images flooding my mind of me killing myself... Richard taunting me, assuring me it's the only way out. My death is the only form of redemption and closure. He's grown stronger, and now I'm the weakest one in here... captive, it's my turn now. I fear not the thought of death or the act itself... I've died twice before. What terrifies me is something new... an itching in my chest, unfamiliar feelings and sensations. They cause me brief moments of happiness, and that scares the ever living fuck out of me... happiness is something only found in books and movies. Richard claims it will be the final blow and will surely lead to my undoing... yet he warns me of it? One moment pushing the blade closer and the other running from it entirely... I grow weary with confusion. Diana hasn't been around... not in quite a long time has she whispered words of strength into my ear. I need her to come back and help me determine what is real and deceit. If I stab myself in the chest, I could remove all of the pain... Richard would be pleased and the itching would cease. I've tried to understand this... placed all of the pieces in a row and called them by name. Roll call every hour till noon, then we go inside and play. I just can't do this anymore... something is breaking down. Is it the walls... who's walls? Where's my fucking lullaby?

Bookends

The Tutorial has ended... we have no more gifts for thee, bah rum bum bum bum. Indeed, two days in a row... this time it will be different. We won't speak in riddles or hide messages under soiled sheets... nor puzzles written in metaphor. Tonight, I will play the role of the listener and you, my readers, hopefully will fill the role as voice and consciousness. Of course, that does require some work and courage on your part. Over the years, you've watched as I've danced about making a fool of myself in my quest in understanding people, emotions, and friendships. I know this may seem trivial to most, but to someone with my limitations... no words could be less true. Constantly, I make efforts to engage in conversation with people and foster some type of friendship... most of the time this ends with disgust and immediate rejection. Although, sometimes I do receive some harsh words instead of being rudely ignored. On the very rare occasion, someone responds in kind and a seed is planted... which I quickly strangle to death in a fit of confusion and social oddity. The problem I seem to encounter most often is the chance to form some type of generic relationship... perhaps a great deal of that is from myself and the words I choose, but the other part is from the populace. It's common knowledge that the internet is filled with tons of fucked up predators looking for someone to hurt or take advantage of for their own lust and greed. Seeing how my only avenue to meet people is the internet, I'm already at a severe disadvantage... on the rare occasion I do go into public, I stare at the ground and never make eye contact. The truth of the matter is this... people terrify me. Despite the fear, for some ungodly reason I find myself continuing on this quest for knowledge and understanding.

So here we are... this conversation has been stated time and time before. Here is where I need help from you, the readers. What is the appropriate conversational link, indroduction or methodology to avoid being classified as one of the dangerous people? I speak politely and state my intentions... perhaps that is too honest and robotic? What is the social protocol or proper age group of people I should be trying to speak with? Where am I going wrong... is there an application format I should be following to discover human interaction and understanding?

Honestly, I am uncertain of the questions to ask of you... so I find myself here, just asking for any help in general. Thank you for taking the time to listen and hopefully someone comes forward with some helpful information. Until we meet again...

Unknown Diagnosis

I have been trying to get some answers and understanding regarding my mental illness for quite a long time... whether from researching the topic online or in books or speaking with my therapist and doctor, the results have been fruitless. The common answer I get is, "Hmm, I'm not quite sure.". So perhaps there is someone that will read this and may have an idea... it's worth a try. The only thing I have found to be certain is this... there is too much misinformation out there and not enough fact!

As you all may already know, I suffer from Paranoid Schizophrenia This includes all the other wonderful sub-symptoms like severe depression, anxiety, dissociation and social withdrawal... to name a few. However, I have another symptom that no one can give me a name for, thus no further understanding... no, it is not a delusion either. It has been confirmed by my doctors as a real symptom, but that's about it... I need more than that. I need to understand it, so I can learn how to cope with this illness to the best of my abilities. The best way to describe it is as multiple personalities, but NOT in the traditional sense... more like partial personalities. People with DID / MPD have entirely separate personalities. Based on my limited amount of knowledge of this subject, the core personality is absent while the other personalities are active. The core personality loses time and has no memory of what has been taking place during that time frame. The alters have different personalities, memories, talents, fears, speech, mannerisms and even sexual orientation. They are separate people living in one shell. These alters are generally created because of some trauma... the core person couldn't deal with the events, so the mind splintered into a new person that could deal with the situation. It was a means of controlling, surviving and dealing with those events of severe abuse. Remember, this is just my understanding and I am not claiming to know the specific details and facts here... please forgive me if I am incorrect.

The way my therapist has described it to me is this... it is as if, I "almost" splintered into other personalities, because of the severe sexual, physical and mental abuse I suffered as a child. These "almost personalities" are an active part of my life... when situations arise that I am not capable of dealing with, they "deal" with it. However, I do NOT lose time, in the traditional sense, usually,  and I am completely aware of my surroundings and what is happening... but on occasion, I have lost small pieces of time where I have no idea where I have been or what I have been doing. In most cases, I have been doing things I didn't want to do but was powerless to stop them from happening... like a puppet being manipulated by it's master. At other times, they have done things that I desperately needed done, but just couldn't. Here is a good example. When I go out into public, I don't make eye contact with anyone... I always stare at the ground and avoid as many people as possible. I don't shake hands with people or look them in the eyes if I have to talk to them and I am nervous to the point of a heart-attack. A few weeks ago, the car broke down and I needed to decide if investing more money in the car was a good or bad idea. After everything was said and done, it was determined a replacement vehicle was the best option. This meant going to the bank and speaking to someone about a loan... an impossible task. I became very upset and didn't know what to do, other than it had to be done. I stepped aside and someone else stepped up to take control. I went into the bank, completely calm and started asking questions. A man walked up to me and extended his hand and I shook it, then he invited me into his office. The entire time, I made eye contact and acted and spoke with professionalism... never once staring off at the ground or rocking back and forth uncomfortably. The entire process lasted about 15 minutes... which ended with no financial help of course because I am disabled. The point is this... that behavior wasn't normal. For that entire time, I was in essence, letting one of those "partial personalities" deal with this situation. I was fully aware, but my part in this adventure was merely a spectator... I remember being fully at peace and comfortable. When the immediate crisis was over and I was safely home, I returned to "center stage"... and the usual behavior returned like clock work. For that time, I was someone else... set free from the nightmare of my mind and illness. This is but one example, there are other times when crisis has arisen and someone else had to "take care of things".

I am frustrated that my doctors can't explain what this is all about... so, I turn to the audience. Other then them telling me things like, "partial personalities" and "almost splintered", my questions haven't been answered. If they could give me a name or diagnosis, then perhaps I would have better luck in researching it more and thus understanding it better. At any rate, if anyone has any thoughts... please share them. Even if your thought is, "Shut the fuck up!" and "You're so full of shit!" ... anything is better than, "Hmm, I'm not quite sure".

Thirsty Camels

Here we are, in moments like these... where we realize the emptiness and loneliness more than ever before. I say we, simply because I am never truly alone... I have the choir singing their lullabies and the cat awaiting his moment of jubilation. As for myself... solitude would be an understatement. I played a few games this evening, not so much for the "digital therapy", but for the hope that someone would speak to me or at least notice my presence. Bouncing between an online flash game called Batheo, Facebook Games, Xbox 360, EverQuest 1 & 2, World of Warcraft, Rift, Pogo Games and Star Wars Galaxies... nothing and no one. I am truly the invisible pixel. Tomorrow I have to see my therapist... there I will be seen and the center of attention. After all, I am playing him for his time... no sincerity, tea or biscuits for this one. I tell myself often, "I don't know how much longer I can go on like this...". Perhaps the few readers I have are sick of hearing me cry about the dusted tears... some perhaps going as far as just waiting for the day that the posts stop coming. Everyday my heart breaks a little more... which is curious in it's own right. If I can't feel love, the soul emotion from the heart, how can it be breaking daily? I am debating covering myself with, "Handle With Care" packaging stickers... maybe I am too fragile? I am the cracked vase, with my splinters wedging themselves deep within the carpet... waiting for someone to take notice as I cut and rip my way into their lives... the troublesome nuisance I am so often reminded of being. We always want that which we can not have... but what about the things we so desperately need? Do I really need a friend or companion? My heart screams yes, but as for the rest... it is just the mirrored mockery of my own mind.

What Once Was... Shall Never Be

I have decided, as a means of survival, I am going to move into the closet and live inside. I will route some power into it and place my computer near the entrance to watch for people trying to defile my temple. In the corner, I will place the few possessions that remain, my music, guitar, video games and books, and stack them into a platform on which I can safely sleep. That way no one can sneak in and steal from me any longer... when I am awake I will be guarding them and when I am asleep I will be laying on them. This is the only rational decision I can think of because everything I own is being stolen from under my nose. Anything that is of value and capable of being stolen is taken... stop fucking stealing my shit! Maybe I should start stealing your stuff or stick my knife through your fucking throat! There is nothing inside of you, you fucking clone, I would be doing the world a favor. Just leave me alone!

Unsaid And Unsent

The words are swirling around in my mind, but I am powerless to speak. If I keep these thoughts to myself, I can relive the dream over and over within the safety of my head... just let me keep on dreaming a little longer. Allow me that one simple pleasure... I beg of you. I know it will never happen, I know it can't happen, I know all the things my heart refuses to accept. Tomorrow I will wake up and suppress these feelings that at the moment are bursting from within my chest... the sorrow drips from my eyes when I think of losing this moment. I lace my every word, with the same thought... they are only so many ways to say the unsaid. Just for the night, may my tongue be still and my breathing staggered... let me have this, just for one more night.

But I Want A Puppy, Momma

The childish thirst and innocence never fully goes away... we want what we can't have and refuse to settle for the finality of an unfulfilled desire. No means no. When we reach the point of understanding, in a sense we die... out of gas, the drive is gone, the flame extinguished. Perhaps it isn't childish innocence, maybe we were just more alive and determined. Some, they take their puppies home and love them, nurture them and grow with them as equals. Others, they take their puppies home and squeeze them with excitement until the puppy stops twitching and goes limp. A few will go home with people that cast them into a cage and break their spirit... leaving them to lay in their own shit and filth as the skin sags from the lifeless body. Finally, the remaining puppies become an outlet of frustration... beaten, just as the world had beaten their masters. They live low to the ground, whimpering in fear and eyes glazed with tears... but they still come to their master to be beaten yet again. So I ask myself, am I the wanting child still reaching for my puppy? Or am I the child that took one home... if so, how did I raise them? All of those puppies had one thing in common... they were at one time desired and accepted. No, I am not the child filled with desire nor the man filled with accomplishment for my deeds. I am the puppy... crawling low with glassed eyes... waiting.

Broken

My spirit is broken today. I have misplaced my voice somewhere near the paper umbrellas and lemon wedges. My thoughts are clouded by the familiar puffs of nicotine coated smoke. There is always the risk of falling when trying to climb out of a hole. Careful whose hand you hold... it just may be too brittle.


Listen & Feel

Tomorrow is another day... perhaps I will try again.